


on his mouth like liquor

by spidermanhomecomeme, spideysmjs



Series: Thotumn Leaves [3]
Category: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Car Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Michelle Jones is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Peter Parker is a thot, Secret Relationship, Sneaking Around, Song: Partition (Beyoncé)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:01:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27667171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spidermanhomecomeme/pseuds/spidermanhomecomeme, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spideysmjs/pseuds/spideysmjs
Summary: “Mr. Parker & Ms. Jones,” the driver greets. “Where to?”“Wallis Annenberg Center,” she answers with confidence, Peter scanning the curve of her body as she steps in front of him, scooting in the back of the car after the driver opens their door.“5 mile drive in Hollywood during a night like this? It’s gonna be a long one,” the driver laughs. Peter clenches his knuckles as he closes the door behind him.
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker
Series: Thotumn Leaves [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1995361
Comments: 47
Kudos: 79
Collections: Peter Parker's Thotumn 2020





	on his mouth like liquor

**Author's Note:**

> *finger guns*

It’s a cold night. The moonlight seeps through the dark grey clouds plastered in the deep-colored sky. It’s unusual for the February air to feel this way, though she assumes that this sharp feeling isn’t all because of the weather.

Still, she shivers in anticipation as her hand brushes his.

It’s faint, barely there, but the ghost of it lingers as she pulls away, rolling her shoulders as they continue to walk in silence — the click of her heels against the pavement as loud as ever. 

There’s something sitting in the pit of her stomach, and for as much as she wants to believe she’s over the stage of butterflies around him, tonight feels like the first time all over again. She convinces herself tonight might as well be the first, given how it all began. 

The sharp, brisk wind brushes against her back, goosebumps trailing along her skin, only for a blazer to be placed softly over her shoulders as they wait for their ride to pull up to the curb. His gesture strikes a nerve within her, as if they’d never done this before. 

Her eyes roll at herself for feeling this way knowing that at this point, they could be labeled as professionals for sneaking away with each other, laughing _now_ in nostalgia at the trouble they’ve almost been in for doing the very thing they’d left the venue for, anyway. 

It’s not her fault for wanting to leave early. 

If there’s anyone to blame, it’s him. He’d given her looks all night, looks of hope and desire and passion and another word that still feels surreal to say out loud, even if they’d confessed it all through breathless moans just weeks ago, the last time they’d met.

She wants to tell him again, she always does, all the time. But this time is different – this time, it will feel freer. So, she withholds the words, not wanting to blurt it out in the middle of a hasty, secret escape for a good fuck when, now, it doesn’t have to be _this_ way after tonight. 

There’s a crisp stillness between them — one that she’d gotten used to for the last few weeks, their schedules never aligning until now. Impatience steels at her as she taps her heel furiously at the ground, disregarding how frustrated her stylists will be if they see any damage on her red bottoms. 

From the corner of her eyes, she notices him checking his watch, wondering what he’s feeling, and if he’s feeling the urge to ravage her body. She refuses to meet his gaze, eyes buried deep into the street in front of her as cars drive by, hoping no one notices who they are. 

She can feel his gaze on him, avoiding the honesty in his eyes the same way she downs her liquor without chase.

He takes a deep breath, watching. Hoping. For what, he didn’t know. For weeks, they’ve known. For weeks, they’ve spent hours messaging each other back and forth. 

But after today – after seeing her again _in person_ , the nervousness found its way to his stomach – the feelings of anticipation he had before they confessed, back when he’d been instructed to wait, wait, _wait._

He’s written the book on patience, which is down to its last thread. He’d never felt this way before, even when he’d realized how he felt about her because now, as his foot begins to mimic the nervous tapping of her heels, he feels more electric than ever. The neediness surges throughout his entire body, feeling his heart rate speed up even faster than the fleeting moments of desire where he’d whisper secret, filthy promises in her ear – distracting her throughout the night.

A smirk quietly dances across his face. He’d been working her up, but he knows she’s not completely innocent either: her hidden winks and lip bites, how she’d walk away with the knowledge of his eyes glued up and down her body, and the way she brushed his hand up his thigh in the darkness of the venue, as a _congratulatory_ gesture.

He releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, the hot air turning into fog as it meets the breeze. 

“There’s light rain tonight,” she says. Her voice strikes him like lightning, heat rising in his face as if she’d said anything else other than an observation about the weather, only for him to nod slowly, unable to keep up with such small talk. 

Finally, the dark SUV they called pulls up to the curb. Neither of them move, both too frozen with nervousness to carry on with their plan, despite having egged each other on all night. The driver steps out of the car, walking over to them with bright eyes and excitement, probably already having heard the news of their sweep of the night. 

“Mr. Parker & Ms. Jones,” the driver greets. “Where to?”

“Wallis Annenberg Center,” she answers with confidence, Peter scanning the curve of her body as she steps in front of him, scooting in the back of the car after the driver opens their door. 

“5 mile drive in Hollywood during a night like this? It’s gonna be a long one,” the driver laughs. Peter clenches his knuckles as he closes the door behind him. “Congratulations, by the way.”

The backseat is spacious – already a lot more extravagant than the local pop-up after parties Peter attends back in Queens after a successful opening night. The aura around him feels different, especially following his biggest milestone in his acting career.

He finds himself in the middle seat, legs extended comfortably in front of him – just enough room for what they intend to do. 

His thigh is pressed against MJ’s, bare skin aching for hers already, his impatience running thin as his frustration flies high. Peter’s been desperate for this moment, for him to fully consume her, to take in all of her: her perfectly curled hair he can tug on, the rings dressed on the fingers he wants to kiss, the look of abandon in her eyes.

He whispers, “I need you. Right now.”

A shiver travels down her spine. MJ presses her thighs together, an automatic reaction.

“Right now?” she says, pursing her lips in a façade of nonchalance – a look that lets Peter know she’s ready to tease him, despite both of them anticipating this very moment since their illicit meetings at Peter’s apartment began. “40 minutes is a _long_ time.”

Her heart skips at the minuscule twitch of his jaw, the way his gaze on her darkens. His look of impatience is fair, but if he’s been able to wait for almost over a year, then he can stand to wait just a _few_ more minutes. Besides, if there’s anything she’s learned from their time together, it’s that a wound-up Peter is… _exceptional._

She returns a smirk, the street lights reflecting off the soft and vulnerable glow in her eyes, loosening Peter’s tense knuckles. 

There’s an edge to his voice, one that makes her face burn as his hand comes to rest just above her knee. “Not long enough for everything I wanna do to you.” 

The persistence in his tone drives her wild, a sensation meeting in between her legs from hearing his voice, hearing those _words_. She’s been deprived for too long. He’s kept her tense all night — innocent hands brushing by the small of her back as they pose for cast photos.

What Peter and MJ are doing is dangerous in more ways than one, thousands of warnings flashing in her head telling her to stop, to not risk the publicity mess that agent has to cover for the next morning. This time, she doesn’t care. She’s waited too long for this, the time ticking slowly up to this night — the night she can finally do what she wants, even if it still doesn’t feel like a reality.

Movie promo is over. No more listening. They’ve gotten their awards as her agent campaigned for. Tonight is theirs for the taking. 

MJ’s ready to move forward, the rush of her post-awards freedom coursing throughout her body as she shifts to the right, her legs lifting as they rest on top of Peter's thighs. A curl plays at the corner of her lips as one of her fingers trails up the buttons of his shirt. The slit in her dress falls, the fabric shimmering under the city lights. She whispers back a challenge, “What do you wanna do to me, then?”

He doesn’t answer. Not directly, at least. His lips tug into a smirk, a certain spark in his eyes that sets a heated ache in her center. 

Her mouth is dry.

“Driver?” Peter speaks up, his gaze burning into hers as his hand travels up the smooth skin of her thigh, hiking her dress up with playful fingers. “Roll up the partition, please.”

The driver asks no questions, blissfully ignorant of the crackling air in the backseat, as he presses the button on the center console. It feels like eternity watching the screen rise, inching closer to the privacy they need, Peter’s hands moving with it, higher and higher. 

_Click._

Peter’s mouth is on hers the second they’re alone, hot and wanting, desperate for touch. He wastes no time as he hooks the leg peeking out of her dress over his lap, greedy hands cupping the curve of her ass and grinding her against him. All he wants to do is show her what she does to him, just how she makes him _feel_. 

The silk of her dress battles Peter’s grip, his muscles tensing, bringing her body closer, wanting no distance between them — needing this moment to suspend, savoring every minute with her, afraid that he could lose this chance again. 

His kisses scream desire, open against her pulse point while her fingers scramble to his button up. Her haste makes Peter’s brain fuzzy, his chest craving the press of her palm, already wanting his shirt to rip open as he feels the restraint in the center of his slacks. Both of MJ’s legs find its way on top of him, but the discomfort of her position is clouded by her uncontrollable instinct to buck against him, one hand pressed against the foggy window of the car. 

“Tell me something,” she says, panting from the way Peter’s lips made its way to her collarbone.

She feels him smile into her skin. “Like what?” He teases, throwing the game right back at her. 

“You’re the one —” she gasps as his hardness presses against her harder. “— You’re the one who said right now. So,” she smirks, grabbing his chin and tilting his head up to look at her. _“Tell me something.”_

“Wanna make you come,” his breath hitches in between his declaration as his mouth reacquainting itself with her neck, hips moving to match the rhythm MJ made for the both of them, not getting enough of her skin as he continues to squeeze her ass. “Gonna make you come.”

“That’s a lot of bark and no bite, Parker.” She adds more friction to her movement, furiously rubbing up against him and making him groan against her throat. 

He feels her challenge. Her words fuel a fire in his heart in a way that intensifies when he thinks about the entire year, about holding back too many times in order to finally have this night with her again. 

Peter scoffs, hissing into her ear as he nibbles on her lobe. “As if anyone can make you feel the way I do.”

He’s only had two glasses of red wine, but he’s drunk on her touch. His arms wrap around MJ’s waist as he gently places her next to him before pushing her dress up to her hips, exposing her small no-show lace panties. She spreads her legs as wide as she can, barely attempting to be careful with her dress; she’s still hissing and daring him to do something stupid like prove his capability. 

She dares him, “What other wins can you take tonight?”

A small smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He almost doesn’t hear her, too distracted by the damp patch in the middle, too lost in how the wet lace clings to her. It takes everything in him not to rip the delicate fabric right then as he brushes his thumb over her clit, the sound of Michelle’s shuddering sigh making him twitch. His touch is feather-light as he lines the bundle of nerves. 

“I thought you were in a hurry.” Michelle’s voice is breathy and high, tinted with frustration, catching as he increases his pressure for a split-second before backing down again. 

Her hips unconsciously push against his hand, desperate for more friction, and he has the nerve to chuckle as he places a deceptively chaste kiss on her shoulder. “Eager, aren’t you?”

In just the ten minutes it took to pull away from the curb and dive deep into the streets of Hollywood, Peter’s already lost in the buzz of something else — a different kind of victorious feeling, knowing that finally after tonight, there’s no longer a need to hide how he feels. 

He shelves his thoughts for later, frustrated at himself for letting his emotions take over, wanting to focus on the dirty little mission they’d planned for, a finale for the end of an era of secrecy. He listens to MJ’s panting while his fingers trace up and down her center, over the lace. She’s damp, almost soaking enough for Peter to glide his fingers right inside her. He chooses to tease her, index finger now circling at her clit. 

Peter loves witnessing MJ come undone. He loves seeing fireworks light up throughout her skin as she slams her hand against the window behind her, heels poking at the leather seat. He admires her slender legs across his lap, the way her body bends to his touch. 

And she hisses as he presses her clit more firmly, dragging his thumb as he draws circles. 

“I just don’t want us to waste our time,” she hisses, her fingers trailing down his chest playfully. 

But Peter’s eye catches hers, a look behind them that causes her breath to catch in her throat. 

“40 minutes is a _long time,”_ he repeats back to her, his lips twisting into a devilish smirk. 

She melts when he finally pushes aside the lace, drowning his fingers in her arousal, finally giving her what she wants. She swears his hands are an extension of heaven, seeing stars as he pumps in and out of her slowly, a calculated movement. MJ knows she ignited a light in him, his fingers working with purpose, but all she can bask in is the familiarity of Peter’s tongue dragging along her jaw as he cradles her waist in his free arm, keeping her involuntary vibrations still while he works her heat. 

It’s intoxicating watching her writhe under his touch as his fingers curl inside of her, listening to her gasps and breathy whines as he matches his pace to their erratic breaths. She clings desperately to him with the hand not pressed against the window, clawing greedily at his shirt, the faint sting of her nails digging into his shoulder making him see double vision. 

And he’s filled with a sense of pride, victorious as she’s rendered speechless when he quickens his pace, more insistent as he pumps his fingers in and out of her, her jaw slack, eyes screwed shut. 

_That’s a lot of bark and no bite,_ he thinks with a smirk against her neck, his teeth grazing her soft skin. 

Peter’s grip on her waist tightens as she thrusts her hips against his hand, teetering just on the edge, the burning coil within her tightening as he fucks her with just his fingers. He feels her starting to flutter around him, her muscles tensing as she arches her back, a choked moan spilling past her lips as she comes. 

This is one of the few times Michelle likes to be proved wrong. 

He slows his movements, working her through the tail-end of her high, and she revels in his languid, hungry kisses along the column of her throat. 

She opens her eyes, blearily looking at Peter, heating pooling in her again at the sight of him licking and sucking his fingers clean. 

“Can I taste you?” He asks, his hand coming down to massage her thigh, wet fingers digging into her skin. 

And she wants to say something snarky, to comment on how he already has, when his hand trails higher again, his thumb pressing her clit over the lace of her underwear. 

The breathy _“yes,”_ that falls from her lips is more than desperate. 

He shifts to the floor of the back seat, ready on his knees as he prises her legs apart, smoothing his hands over her thighs. It’s a sight he loves to see, her spread before him, ready and wanting, the damp patch in the middle of her underwear causing his slacks to impossibly tighten. 

_“Fuck…”_ Cursing under his breath, he hooks his thumbs underneath the lace, yanking them down roughly. 

He needs her now. 

He needs to show her how much she _needs him_. 

Michelle throws her head back as his is buried between her thighs, her hand tangling into his hair, twisting and gripping as his tongue swirls her arousal over her still-sensitive clit, her hips bucking involuntarily with each flick. He drapes his arm over her, fingers digging into her skin, weighing her down, controlling her movements as he moans openly into her heat. 

It’s been too long since he’s been able to do this, to taste her without the worry of ruining everything lingering in the back of his mind. There had always been a time limit on their meetings, every touch, every kiss, every fuck having to be quick and quiet. But now, as they drive through the city, the lights blurry behind the fogged windows, they have all the time in the world. 

His eyes meet hers as he flattens his tongue, licking a long, slow stripe up her center, the corner of his mouth quirking upward as she struggles to keep herself from melting into the seat.

Peter off-handedly thinks how stunning, how absolutely _perfect_ she looks like this; lips parted and swollen, chest heaving, eyes screwed shut in twisted bliss. 

And how he could spend the rest of the drive with his face in between her thighs. 

The feeling is just as easy for Michelle to get lost in; his curls tickling the insides of her thighs, his mouth hot and wanting and eager, his nose swiping over her clit as his tongue fucks into her. The vibrations of his voice, muffled against her as he moans and curses into her. A wavy smile tugs at her lips, electric heat pulsing from the top of her head to the tips of her toes, and she thinks how right she’d been to tease him. 

It _always_ pays off.

The city is alive outside the car, a gentle rain now tapping at the windows, but it’s all drowned under their joined moans, her breathy whines and choked gasps, the lewd sounds of Peter’s mouth lapping at her heat.

“Peter—” She hisses, back arching as his mouth finds her clit again, face and ears burning as she hears herself. 

He hums in agreement, the vibrations causing her head to swim, his name to keep falling from her lips in broken sighs. His fingers tease her entrance, the calculated self-control in his movements a deep contrast to the near-frantic sucking of her clit, the way he presses her into the seat with his arm, roughly anchoring her down as she tries to grind against him. 

It’s dizzying, when his fingers curl into her, when he groans at how easily they slide in. The feeling of his hand pumping in and out of her, rhythm matching his lips and tongue on her clit, the stinging cold metal of his watch against her palm as her hand shoots down to grip his wrist. 

And she feels it again, so soon after her first; the molten heat flaring in her stomach, muscles tightening, the jolt of electricity that causes her toes to curl. Her eyes screw shut, her head thrown back as she’s rocked with waves of white hot pleasure, one hand clinging to Peter, her fist tangled into his hair, twisting and pulling.

It takes her a moment, as she comes down, to notice Peter murmuring filthy praises into her skin, his lips leaving a trail of heated, open-mouthed kisses along her thighs, before licking another achingly long line up and down. 

Her hands are desperate, grabbing him, and dragging him up to smash her lips to his. She moans into his mouth as she tastes herself on his tongue, trying everything to pull him impossibly closer. 

“I’m not done,” Peter says, breathless as he breaks the kiss.

The corners of her lips tug into a smirk, eyes narrowing directly into his as she puts a hand on his chest, pushing him backward and slinking down to the floor in one swift movement. 

There’s a sly grin playing on his lips as he stares down at her, his mouth hanging open in mild surprise. 

And she whispers a promise, “Your turn.”

 _God bless LA traffic,_ Peter thinks.

**Author's Note:**

> You know we had to do it to 'em. 
> 
> Follow us on Tumblr: [spiderman-homecomeme](http://spiderman-homecomeme.tumblr.com/) & [spideysmjs](https://spideysmjs.tumblr.com/)


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